Defying The Odds
by ntlpurpolia
Summary: The odds were, Gryffindors and Slytherins wouldn't mix. The odds were, Malfoy and Weasley would hate each other. The odds were, Rose and Scorpius would enter Hogwarts and begin a lifelong rivalry. The odds weren't, Rose and Scorpius would fall in love.
1. then (1)

**Hi! *waves* So, this is my first venture into the HP fanfiction-writing domain, even though I have been reading them since forever. Hope you enjoy this attempt at a non-enemies ScoRose fanfiction!**

The first time Scorpius Malfoy saw Rose Weasley, it was at Platform Nine and Three Quarters, with his mother pointing her out - really, gesturing discreetly at her entire family, the whole red-haired, Weasley-fied brood of them - and saying, "Those are the ones you'll want to watch out for, Scor. The Potters and Weasleys have never been fond of Malfoys or Slytherins, and you'll most likely be both."

Scorpius, eleven and nervous and a little drunk on the vestiges of freedom and independence he could feel sliding into his grasp, had said, "I don't have to be a Slytherin, Mum, do I?"

"You don't have to." Astoria Greengrass smiled down at her son, smoothing her hand over Scorpius's cowlicks. "But it's likely you will be."

"And it's likely they'll - " he jerked his chin over at them. "Hate me, but that doesn't mean I can't defy the odds, does it?"

"No, Scorpius." She wasn't looking at him anymore; both his parents, hands still clutching the trolley's handle, were staring across King's Cross Station at the Potter-Weasley clan. "No, it doesn't."

And the rest of the walk towards the Hogwarts Express had been uneventful as it could be for the first time; smoke billowing as it obscured his parents' faces, them saying tearful goodbyes, promises to write echoed with owls hooting, embarrassment and nerves and anticipation all warring together in his chest. Until he'd gotten onto the train, and realized he didn't know where to sit.

All the carriages he walked past were full, full of whispers and stares, gossip and gazes. "Malfoy - Slytherin - evil - pureblood." He scurried past a compartment full of pureblood children his grandfather sometimes forced him to play with, and finally found an empty carriage near the back. Scorpius may have been alone, but at least he wasn't mocked or treated like a zoo animal with an obvious deformity.

He took out one of his sketchpads and a pencil, thinking to draw the outline of the Hogwarts Express as it rolled out of the station, the clusters of parents and the groups of children, separated by its windows, when he heard voices. "Look, Al, here's an empty - Oh, hullo."

Scorpius looked up anxiously. "Hullo. I'm Scorpius, Scorpius Malfoy."

There were two people, a boy with dark hair that fell in front of his glasses, and an auburn-haired girl who he thought might have been a Weasley. She had been the one to speak, all easy chatter that vanished now and twisted into a surprised squawk. "Malfoy?"

"You don't need to do everything your father says, Rosie." The boy next to her - Al? - nudged her, and sat down across from him. "I'm Albus Potter."

Rose opened her mouth, closed it, and, seemingly reluctant, took a seat next to Albus. She didn't meet Scorpius's eyes, which was fine by him. "Don't call me Rosie, cousin."

Cousin. If Scorpius remembered correctly, then Rose-Not-Rosie was a Weasley. The daughter of legendary Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger, cousin of Albus Potter, niece of Harry Potter and Ginny Weasley. Famous in a good way, not like the dark taint that followed Malfoy everywhere that his father did his best to keep Scorpius from noticing.

As he and Albus settled into an animated conversation about Quidditch, he thought he might have just made his first friend - and perhaps his first enemy. He eyed her - Rose was reading a Muggle book, one whose title he didn't recognize from the handful his mother had read to him over the years. She coiled a strand of reddish-brown hair around her fingers as she turned the pages of the book on her lap, humming tunelessly. The Weasley was completely engrossed; he was certain that she would have lambasted him for staring at her otherwise. She seemed that type of girl, firm and resolute in her beliefs, completely immovable once she decided on a stance. And her stance seemed to be complete hatred of all things Malfoy.

"Oh, there's the trolley witch! I'm going to see if James will give me any of his pocket money, either of you coming?" Albus asked, darting up from his seat. Neither of them moved. Rose put down her book, tucking a slip of parchment between the yellowed pages with a happy sigh, stretching her arms over her head. She appeared to have forgotten her presence until she looked forwards. Her face hardened, and she said nothing but her expression said it all.

 _I don't trust you._

 _You Malfoy._

 _You future-Slytherin._

 _You most-likely-complete-git._

"What book are you reading?" Scorpius worked up the courage to say. The tension thickened.

"Nothing you'll have heard of." Rose snapped, closing her book with an audible thump. He resisted the urge to gulp, instead stiffening his spine.

"You'd be surprised," he insisted.

"It's a Muggle story, so I doubt a pureblood like you would have heard of it," she argued.

"Then tell me, _Rosie_ ," Scorpius said. "Tell me what the book's called."

She seemed infuriated by both his use of the nickname and the fact that he was being so patient. He resisted the urge to smirk; she'd probably use it as more fodder against him. "It's called A Tale of Two Cities."

"By Charles Dickens?" He asked, savouring her look of surprise. His mother had read him all the Muggle classics, and Astoria Greengrass's favourite had been A Tale of Two Cities, her favourite character being Sydney Carton. She'd always told Scorpius that he reminded her of his father.

"How would a - " he saw her choke on the name Malfoy - "How would _you_ know about Muggle literature?"

He shrugged. "I've got eyes. I read, and my Mum likes the books. She read them to me when I was younger."

"So, who knew Scorpius Malfoy was a mummy's boy?" she teased, although there was no malice in her tone. He relaxed. Their banter went on, although remarkedly less tense.

By the time Albus returned with armfuls of chocolate frogs and pumpkin pasties, Scorpius and Rose had decided that maybe, it was possible for a Malfoy and a Weasley to be friends.

Just _maybe_.

...

The first time Rose Weasley stood up for Scorpius Malfoy, it was on the train ride home for the holidays, and Albus was standing down to his older brother, who clearly had his priorities out of order.

"How _could_ you, Albus?" James demanded, sticking his finger in his brother's face. "How _dare_ you make friends with a _Slytherin_? And not just any Slytherin - Scorpius Malfoy!"

"You don't actually care that _I_ , myself, am a Slytherin, Jamie?" Albus asked, keeping his tone nonchalant. Rose knew, however, that both his brother's approval and Scorpius's friendship meant a great deal to him. She supposed they would see which one meant more.

"No, of course I don't care!" James snapped. "It's going to be useful having a Slytherin in the family for pranks and things. And don't call me Jamie, or try to change the subject. Why Malfoy?"

Albus shrugged. "He needed a friend."

James turned to Rose. "C'mon, Rosie! Talk some sense into him."

Rose looked torn. "I don't know, James..."

"What would Uncle Ron say?" James wheedled, nudging his red-headed cousin.

"I'm not going to tell Al what to do, James. Alright? He can make his own friends." It was a neutral statement on the surface, but Albus knew it was more than that.

James left in a huff, muttering that all his relatives had gone mad. Rose smothered a giggle as se watched him leave before turning back to Al.

"Thanks, Rose." Albus squeezed his cousin's hand awkwardly. "But why'd you do it?"

She answered casually. "None of _you_ lot read the same books as I do."

"It's just books?" Albus asked.

"It's just books, Al." Rose got up from her seat. What was there to say? _He's friends with you, and you're my favourite cousin. He always lets me have the last chocolate frog. He has a dimple when he smiles._ None of those were answers she could spout without being teased mercilessly, and besides, those were feelings she didn't want to get into. "I'm going to the loo."

He grunted, looking out the carriage window at a pretty Ravenclaw girl passing by. Rose rolled her eyes, and bumped into someone. Startled, she jumped back.

"Malfoy." Rose greeted Scorpius with a nod, her heart stuttering oddly.

"Weasley," he said, faux-solemnly, as though they were long-suffering rivals.

"Got any sweets on you?" she asked, nodding at his pockets. Since he couldn't go home for Christmas this year, his Nan had decided to send him the amount of candy, chocolate, and all around sugar that he would have normally consumed. It had fit in three boxes and had to be lugged onto the train.

"Sure." He pulled out a chocolate frog from the pocket of his robes, which always seemed to have room for something or another despite the fact that he constantly had his hands in them. "Here - it's the last one."

"Thanks, Scor." She unwrapped it, watching him brush his hair back from his face - it was pale, silvery-gold, like spun moonlight from the fairy books Lily liked to read sometimes. Where had that thought come from? "Walk me back to the compartment? I think they're done arguing."

"Sure." He nodded, gesturing for her to go first. And then Scorpius moved, for a moment, as if to twine his pale, long fingers with her own, or rest his hand on the small of her back, but instead he stuffed his hands in his pockets and they walked back to the compartment they were sharing with Al.

Things went on as normal, and Rose didn't think about that moment for a long, long time.


	2. now (1)

**A/N: Thank you to jadely31 and elephant278 for following this story! Please read and give me your feedback. :)**

Summer Before Seventh Year

 _Lily_ was curvy. Short and curvy, but round in all the right places. Rose was not. She was tall and lanky, which should have made her look like a supermodel but really just made her look like a newborn colt, wobbly on long legs, all banged-up elbows and scabby knees.

So why was some French bloke from Victoire's _Maman's_ side looking at her like... well, like her being tall and skinny actually made her look like a supermodel instead of the clumsy bookworm she really was?

" _Bonjour_ ," he greeted her, taking her hand and kissing her knuckles. Rose wondered if she should be alarmed or flattered. " _Je_ _m'appelle_ _Justin_. _Et vous_?"

She scrambled to remember her schoolgirl French. She'd had a bit of practice with Victoire and Dominique over the years but seldom used it. "Rose Weasley. Erm... _Comment ca va_?"

Behind her, she heard a throat clearing, footsteps rustling the grass. _Scorpius_. "Rose."

Justin's eyes widened, and he made a hurried excuse in heavily accented English before scurrying off. Rose turned around, glaring at him. "What did you do that for?"

Scorpius shrugged. With the setting sun shining off his pale hair and his dimple showing, he looked like the epitome of innocence. She knew better. He was a Slytherin, after all. "I was getting you a drink, remember?"

Rose took the proffered lemonade gratefully - it was hot out, even in the shade of the marquee set up for the wedding reception - but glared at him anyways. "He was being nice!"

"How good is your French, really?" Scorpius asked, sipping his lemonade through a red-and-white straw. Her cousins would have slurped it noisily, sending the ice cubes rattling. Scorpius was a Malfoy, a pure blooded aristocrat, probably raised to keep his feet off the coffee table and hold open doors for girls.

"Better than yours," she sniffed.

"Or so you think." He took her empty glass, setting it down on the table, and pulled a set of Extendable Ears out of his pockets. Justin was standing by a pretty girl, chatting and laughing with smooth charm. "Have a listen."

She huffed, but obliged. "I don't hear anything."

He nudged her, fingers cool on her bare back where her shoulder blades were exposed by the breezy sundress she wore. She shivered, probably from the temperature difference and not the touch of his skin on hers. Hopefully. "Go closer."

" _Voulez-vous coucher avec moi_?" He was asking. Rose felt her mouth fall open of its own accord.

"Did he just ask her to sleep with him?" She dropped the Extendable Ears into the grass. Scorpius frowned and picked them up before replacing them in his pocket.

"Why yes, yes he did. And I'd already heard him ask three other girls the same question before getting slapped or having a drink thrown in his pretty face. Therefore, I brought you a drink so you wouldn't have to throw one in his."

"Why, Scorpius Malfoy..." Rose felt a grin curve her lips as she faced him. His grey eyes were warm, smoke-coloured. Almost too warm. "That's almost sweet of you."

"Keep your voice down, would you?" He made an aw-shucks expression. "I don't want anyone to find out."

She laughed. Only Scorpius. "No one else thinks a Slytherin could be sweet, trust me."

Something shifted across his face, less sheepish and more uncomfortable, hurt. Before she could mention it it was gone, and he was holding out his hand, asking her to dance with him. She did.

The music changed, from a classical song to something more contemporary: a slow, dreamy Celestina Warbeck ballad, her throaty voice and the glowing sunset making Rose feel strange. Her skin felt hot all over, even though she was donning a floaty dress that exposed her limbs and her back, with its halter neck and short skirt. Maybe the lemonade she'd drunk had been spiked. James and Fred were always pulling stunts like that, though how they'd pulled off this one she had no idea.

Maybe it was simply the heat of Scorpius's body, one of his hands in hers and the other resting on her bare shoulder blade. He was usually cold, but it was summer and his dress robes were grey and black silk, tailored to fit his tall, lithe frame. He'd shucked off the robe and merely wore the shirt, tie and trousers beneath it, giving him the appearance of a rumpled prince from a fairy tale. She felt oddly disappointed as he spun her, wondering why. It couldn't be that she'd wanted him to be jealous and not protective, to look at her like a girl he fancied rather than a girl he was related to. It couldn't be.

As they twirled around the makeshift dance floor - they were bare wooden boards that made her wish she'd kept her uncomfortable shoes on so she wouldn't get splinters - Rose felt herself descending into a dreamlike trance. She traced her gaze over the outline of Scorpius's face, the high cheekbones, the strong jaw, the mouth that curved into a smile as he looked down at her. The world spun, everything blurring but for the arms around her and the scent of Scorpius and his grey eyes looking intently into hers. Though that image was growing vague as well, his pupils dilating - with what? Something ridiculous and impossible, like desire?

The music stopped, and it seemed like the world stopped spinning as she moved away from Scorpius, her pulse racing faster than a dueller could draw his wand. What was that dance? Surely that hadn't been normal, surely it was a freak accident. A fluke that she had felt what she felt for Scorpius, that she had seen the look on his face and mistaken it for something else. He was Al's best friend. Nothing more.

Nothing more.

. . .

"Why are you up so early, Rose?" Scorpius asked as he heard footsteps padding towards the rickety chair he'd set up his art supplies on.

"I could ask the same of you. Sketching?" Rose answered.

"Yep." He mentally cursed, wishing he weren't so bloody predictable. Every summer morning spent at the Burrow, Scorpius could be found here, starting some new art project or finishing up an old one. Few people knew about his paintings, other than his parents, Albus, and Rose.

"What are you working on?" The redhead perched on the arm of the lawn chair, shading her eyes against the bright summer sunlight as she watched Scorpius sketch the rough outline of something on heavy paper.

"Nothing," he answered hastily, closing the sketch pad with a thud. "D'you think we'll play Quidditch today, or is everyone too hungover?"

"Everyone's too hungover, but that's besides the point. What are you drawing, Scor?" She lunged for his book, but he pulled it away.

"Leave it alone, Rose." He tried to get up from his seat, but she'd lost her balance reaching for his drawing and fell onto his lap in a clumsy heap of tangled limbs.

Her fingers wound up behind his ear, and her backside on his lap. Scorpius stiffened as Rose wriggled her way off; her hair brushed his face, smelling of jasmine and lilies. He'd noticed that, over the years, that she never smelled like roses. She switched scents from time to time, from the salt of ocean waves to sweetness of vanilla beans, but not once was her aroma that of her namesake.

Her shorts rode up her legs, revealing freckles and an indecent amount of her thighs. He stared; he shouldn't have, but he couldn't do anything else. She was only wearing old cutoffs and a tank top with a jumper thrown over, nothing like last night's blue, iridescent dress that matched her eyes, but still there was nobody he wanted to paint more than her.

"Sorry," Rose said as she got up, brushing herself off.

I'm not, he thought. "It's fine."

"Thanks for this." She held up his sketchbook with a cheeky grin, and made off with it before he had time to register the act, let alone protest.

"Give that back!" He chased after her all the way back to the Burrow, where the Weasley-Potter-Lupin clan had gathered for Victoire and Teddy's wedding, which had occurred yesterday with much pomp, spectacle, and many unrecognizable relatives from both Victoire's French side (the Delacours) and the Weasley side. (Including that French git, Justin or Jacques or whatever his name had been.)

"Never!" She stopped, out of breath, by the door, and began flipping through the sketch pad. "Let's see... flowers, flowers, more flowers, the snitch, the latest Firebolt... aha!"

Rose turned to the page where he'd sketched a blurry image of her, sunning herself by the lake at Hogwarts. He'd barely begun, only shading in the landscape and a vague silhouette, so no one could really tell that it was her. But Rose smiled victoriously anyways. "Who's the girl, Scor?"

"Nobody." He reached for his book, and she gave it back, having won.

"So, somebody..." she walked into the Burrow's kitchen, where the mouthwatering scent of bacon and eggs was wafting out. "Is she a Ravenclaw? A Slytherin? A Hufflepuff?"

He groaned, not answering. She continued. "Or is she a... Gryffindor?"

Rose took his extended silence as consent. "Ha! Who is it?"

Scorpius didn't answer her still, instead sitting down at the kitchen table. "Good morning, Mrs. Weasley. Is there anything I can do to help?" He asked the Weasley matriarch, who was standing at the stove with her wand, pointing at slices of bacon and making them flip over on the sizzling pan.

"No, though that's very sweet of you, Scorpius dear," Molly Weasley replied, heaping some bacon and eggs onto a plate and pushing it towards him. "Here, take this."

He did so gratefully; Scorpius had woken up early this morning, hoping to get his painting's outline sketched out before anyone else was up and discovered what he was drawing. He'd only eaten half of a Granny Smith apple, which had been the sole item of sustenance he'd found in the kitchen. Then again, he hadn't looked very hard. "Thank you, Mrs. Weasley."

"Tell me who it is, Scorpius," Rose pleaded, sitting down beside him and stabbing at his sunny-side-ups with a fork. "Pleeease."

He pushed his plate away from her, feeling the yolks run onto his fingers in a sticky yellow mess. "No."

"Rose, stop bothering poor Scorpius and fix your own breakfast," Mrs. Weasley commanded, thrusting a chipped dish at her granddaughter.

Rose huffed and did as she was told, then resumed her conversation - or rather, her badgering. "Is it Melinda Chow? Because she's rather pretty, and I saw her staring at you all through Potions last year, and she was constantly tipping over her cauldron - "

"Who she is is none of your business, Rose," he said with a sigh.

"Of course it's my business, Scor!" She said around a mouthful of pork products. "I have to vet her, make sure she's good enough for you."

Scorpius rolled his eyes. "What makes you think I can't pick my own girlfriend, Rose?"

"Because the last five were all disasters," he heard Albus say through a bleary yawn. "Morning Scor, morning Rosie. Morning, Grandmum."

"Don't call me Rosie," Rose ordered, flashing a look at her favourite cousin.

"All right, Rosie." Al took the plate that his grandmother offered him, and settled down next to Scorpius. "What were you two talking about?"

"Nothing," Scorpius said at the same time that Rose blurted out, "The girl Scorpius fancies."

"Which one is it, nothing or a girl?" Albus asked, digging into his food. "Because it's too early to be so confusing."

He silently agreed with his best friend. "There's nothing."

Rose was silent. She liked to tease him sometimes, but she also knew when to give him space. It was because she knew hmm so well that he thought he might know this, that he was painting her, that he'd only ever wanted, from the moment he'd seen her, to paint her and her freckles and blazing hair and eyes he wanted to drown in.

He was painting her, and here she was, teasing him about it. She might as well have been admitting that she didn't love him the way he loved her, that he was a brother to him - the thought made him laugh, a Weasley related to a Malfoy - that what he felt for her was not the same as what he felt for him.

That she'd never want him, even if he hoped against all odds that she would.


	3. then (2)

third year

"And the Snitch has been sighted! It's Albus Potter coming in for the kill, Slytherin set to win, and oh no, what's that?" The overly excited broadcaster, Hugh Davies, a third-year Hufflepuff, was narrating the Quidditch match that pitted Gryffindor against Slytherin. "Gryffindor's seeker has spotted it too!"

Rose was out of her seat, cheering wildly - she had inherited her mother's inaptitude for Quidditch, but still enjoyed the game as much as any member of her family - as her red and mustard scarf flapped in the wind. Beside her, Scorpius was more reserved, his pureblood manners having won out over school spirit, but he was still on the edge of his seat, biting his nails and muttering to himself. "Come on, Al, come on..."

At the last possible moment, both Seekers dove for the Snitch, and Rose's heart leapt into her throat, beating so wildly she was surprised it didn't force its way out of her mouth. Their heads collided with a sickening thump and crash, Albus's dark messy hair colliding with Lorcan Scamander's shock of blonde curls. Both boys fell off their rooms, the golden Snitch still fluttering wildly by.

An audible gasp could be heard around the stadium, shock and worry rippling through the students. Scorpius was out of his seat before Rose had time to register the accident. He was pushing past the throngs of people with a determined sort of panic, like he might fall apart if he wasn't moving. She chased his silvery-blond head through the swarm, elbowing her way through, her vision tunnelling to only Scorpius and Albus's crumpled body next to him.

"Albus! Albus!" She cried, kneeling next to Scorpius. Madam Pomfrey had already rushed over, and was waving her wand over her cousin's bloodied form. Next to them, Lorcan was looking dazed, a welt forming on his pale forehead.

"No harm done, no harm done. Just a concussion, Mr. Scamander." Madame Pomfrey levitated Albus's unconscious body onto a stretcher. No harm done echoed in Rose's head. That was harm done. A lot of harm done. The matron turned towards Rose and Scorpius. "Mr. Malfoy, Ms. Weasley. I would advise you to let your friend rest in the hospital for at least three hours before you go to visit him. Is that clear?"

"Yes, Madam Pomfrey," they said in unison. Rose's heart was pounding; the cold had seeped its way through her heavy woollen coat. Her fingertips felt numb, her face as though someone had slapped her. "Oh Merlin, Albus," she murmured. "Merlin, he has to be all right, he has to, he has to..."

Scorpius was still his put-together kind of unhinged, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and thrusting a cup into her numb fingers. She'd left her gloves somewhere. They were red and yellow striped, Gryffindor colours, worn just for the game. The game. Who had won? Who cared?

The cup warmed her chilly hands. She raised it to her lips. "What is this?"

"Hot chocolate." Scorpius rubbed his black-gloved hands over her arms. "Drink it. It'll do you good."

"Okay." She let Scor nudge her all the way to the castle, the image of Albus and Lorcan colliding showing up every time she blinked. When they got inside Hogwarts, her eyes had smarted and felt as though they had frozen open.

"Get it together, Weasley," she heard Scorpius say as though from underwater. "My Rose would have talked back at me at least five times now for bossing her around."

"Your Rose?" She managed to eke out with a nervous laugh. "D'you know where I put my gloves?"

"Here," he said, taking them out of his pockets and giving them to her. His fingers brushed hers, a sliver of heat that warmed her to the core. Scorpius jolted his hand back and ran it through his hair.

"Thanks." She set down the empty mug of cocoa and fumbled the gloves on. "Do you think Al will be okay?"

"Can we not talk about him?" For the first time since the accident, he sounded broken, edgy, raw. "He's my best friend. He has to be okay."

"I know." She grabbed his hand and squeezed it firmly, racking her brain for something to talk about. "Did you finish your Herbology essay yet?"

"Five Uses of Snarglepuff Pods?" He asked. "Yes."

"Do you want me to proofread it?" Rose suggested as they walked towards Gryffindor Tower.

He scoffed, removing his gloves and tucking them into his pockets. "I think that would be more harm than help, Weasley."

Rose rolled her eyes. "Just because one measly Mandrake was feeling a little poorly under my care last year - "

"It was five Mandrakes, Rose, and they died!" Scorpius corrected her.

"Just because I haven't got a green thumb doesn't mean I can't edit things, Scorpius," she argued.

Scorpius sighed. "Say what you will, Rose, but the day I'll let you near my Herbology essay is the day your cousins stop pulling pranks."

They made their way to the Gryfindor common room with easy, jovial banter. The three hours were marked with teasing words written on scraps of parchment, despite all of Rose's attempts to work on her homework.

"Hey, it's been three hours now," Scor remarked with a look at his watch. "Shall we go visit Al?"

Rose nodded, suddenly not trusting herself to speak. Al had to be all right. He had to be.

:::

And as it turned out, he was. When they arrived at the Hospital Wing, Albus was sitting up with bandages wrapped around his messy black hair, and sipping from a goblet of pumpkin juice. "Hey, Scorpius, Rosie."

Rose was so relieved, all she could do was throw her arms around her cousin. "Don't call me Rosie!"

Scorpius was relieved too, not just to see that his best friend was going to be all right but also that Rose had returned to her typical self.

"I think what you meant to say is, Thank you, Albus, for not being dead, and also for catching the snitch so that Gryffindor would lose," Al said, his voice muffled by the force of Rose's embrace. "Also, get off me!"

"Sorry." She pulled away. "Go on, Scor, have a go at him."

"Thanks for catching the Snitch, Al," was all he said. It was enough.

Albus grinned. "You're welcome."

All the world was at rights; his best friend was going to be fine, and Rose was at his side.

 **A/N: Thank you AMBERJANUS, gleekingpotterhead, and Augusta for following this story! please review and tell me what you thought of this chapter!**


	4. now (2)

Seventh Year, Summer Before

Last night had been wild.

Butterbeer had been thrown out the window in favour of Firewhiskey. Every adult relative had been out of the house - and in a family as large as theirs, that was saying something. James and Fred had brought along the passel of slaggy hangers-on that they somehow managed to to acquire every year. Dancing - not the stiff, ballroom kind that could be found at the Yule Ball, or the rehearsed, theatrical sort that graced stages, but the kind that was, simply put, coitus with clothes on to the beat of some pounding bass that hardly qualified as music - had been as plenty as the alcohol. Rose specifically remembered, even in her fog of terrible breath and throbbing headache, this kind of dancing.

She just couldn't remember who she'd done it with. Or if it was the same person who lay, for all intents and purposes, dead to the world in an unfamiliar bedroom. It might have been James' bedroom, with its Quidditch posters and magazines with scantily clad girls and what looked like the Invisibility Cloak shimmering away beneath a stack of unopened textbooks.

Maybe it had been one of Dominique's constant parade of suitors that she chucked every year. Maybe it was one of James' or Al's or Scorpius's friends. Rose didn't really want to know, though, because it had felt _good_. She remembered a set of hands skimming her hips, could recall a hot mouth on hers, trailing down to her neck, leaving a mark - God, was that still there? She touched her throat. It was. And she didn't even know who had left it. Which made her at least a little slaggy.

Anyways, she had to get out of there. So, not caring that she couldn't find her bra, she threw on a hideously orange Chudley Cannons sweatshirt she'd found on James' floor and snuck out the door. Closing it behind her with a sigh, Rose let herself relax. Her head had begun pounding. She tried to remember where Nana Molly left the Pepper-Up potion. It was probably in the kitchen on a high shelf somewhere. That seemed about right, didn't it?

On the way to the kitchen, she heard voices. One of them sounded like James', the other like Al's, and both of them made her head feel worse.

"If they don't remember it, does it count?" Al asked. What was that sound.. a sort of clinking noise as he spoke?

"We'll give it time," James argued. "They might remember."

"They were both drinking a lot, James. Blackout drunk, drinking." Yep, that was definitely the sound of money clinking in the background as the brother's spoke. "Wouldn't you rather see the looks on their faces when they find out about the bets, rather than them not knowing about what happened last night?"

James sighed. "I can't believe I'm saying this, but... You're right."

"What bet?" Rose asked, stepping into sight of them. James slid a handful of galleons into his pocket so quickly she almost missed it.

"You know, Rosie, I have so many bets going on, I can't even keep track of them all. Why don't you tell her, Al? Okay, got to go!" And he was gone before she could protest.

"Um..." Al's hazel eyes widened. "It's a bet. About... some people. Who... are total morons. And... don't realize anything to do with their feelings. I also have to run, this hangover needs some Pepper-Up potion. Bye!"

"Wait, I also need Pepper-Up potion. You're not getting away that easily, Albus Severus!" She chased after her cousin. "Talk to me."

"Fine!" He ran a hand through his hair. "It's about... Lucy. And, um, Lorcan Scamander."

"But, Al - " She groaned, frustrated. "Aren't they dating?"

"Yes!" He did an exaggerated fist pump. "I won the bet!"

Rose sighed. "There's definitely something you're not telling me, but fine. Keep your secrets."

:::

"What happened to your neck?" Scorpius asked Rose as he slid a plate of beans and taste in front of her. He had been put in charge of the kitchen, seeing as he had a hollow leg and rarely had hangovers.

"Nothing," Rose said too quickly, turning her head so that her curtain of red curls hid her neck and face.

"That's not nothing, Rose, tell me." Scorpius took the pan off the heat and tipped some bacon onto his dish before sidling up next to her at the counter.

"There's nothing to tell, Scor," she snapped, stealing bacon off of his plate. "So _let it go_."

"Don't steal my bacon. Come on, Rose, who was it?" He asked, peering closer at the hickey on her throat. His nose brushed her chin, and she jerked away as though she'd been burned.

It shouldn't not have hurt, shouldn't have made him jealous of whoever had been kissing her, snogging her. He wasn't her boyfriend... he just wanted to be.

"It's no one you know, okay?" She rolled her eyes. "Have some bacon."

Scorpius picked at his food, his skin feeling like electricity was thrumming against every inch of it that was near Rose. These days - ever since the beginning of this summer, really - he'd been acting odd around her. It was like all his senses went into overdrive when he was around her, and she was some kind of drug he couldn't stay away from.

He just didn't think she felt the same way.

 **Thank you** **vivis** **and** **jadely31** **for reviewing! Your reviews are much appreciated and help encourage me to write.**


	5. then (3)

Fourth Year

"I just don't know why you're so upset!" Scorpius shouted, snatching his Chudley-Cannons-orange Weasley-knit jumper from Rose's hands and storming over to the door. He slammed it shut so that no one would be able to hear their conversation. "It's not as though I asked her to the ball without talking to you. I even asked you - 'Hey, Rose, want to go to the Yule Ball with me?' You said no. End of conversation."

"Because you just asked me!" Rose snapped, yanking the pins out of her magically styled hair. They clattered to the ground, and she bent to pick them up, seething with rage and frustration. "And then you went and asked Francesca Zabini with - with roses and balloons, and - and magically enchanted cards from Weasley's Wizards Wheezes. And all I got was you passing me a stupid note in the middle of Potions, that landed us in detention!"

"Look, if you want, I'll give you the sodding roses and balloons and shit next time, all right? And that was a waste of time! Francesca didn't even go with me."

Scorpius didn't even understand why Rose was so upset. She'd never even cared for girly stuff like all the other girls in her dorm, preferring her studies over gossip, classes over cosmetics. She was Rose, not a girl. Girls were giggly creatures that made him feel extremely awkward and uncomfortable. Rose wasn't a girl.

(She was Rose, with hair like flames and lips like rosebuds and freckles like cinnamon on buttercream frosting. She was Rose, who read novels like they might burn to ashes suddenly and she had to finish them before it happened. She was Rose, and she was every dream he'd ever had.)

"Yeah, but you wanted her to! You wanted to - to dance with her, and wear those ridiculous dress robes - "

"My robes are not ridiculous - " Scorpius tried to say, but she went on.

"And then I had to go with one of Fred's little hangers-on in fourth year that's always trying to make their hair look like his, but you didn't care, did you? No, you were too busy making eyes at Francesca - "

"I thought you liked Greg Mallon - "

"Nobody likes Greg Mallon!" She had begun crying at one point or another, and her makeup was streaming down her face along with tears; her dress was in rags now, like a modern-day Cinderella. "And when I told you I was going with him, all you said was 'cool!"

"What was I supposed to say?" Scorpius roared. Rose, you're beautiful. Rose, don't go with that feckless idiot, go with me. Rose, I only put all that effort into asking out Francesca Zabini because Al teased me about you and I was scared you'd find out and not feel the same way. Rose, I only asked Francesca out because I knew she'd say no. Rose, I only chase girls that don't fancy me because I'm still waiting for you to notice me and I don't want to be tied down when it happens.

"I don't know," Rose whispered, clutching her arms around herself like she was trying not to fall apart. He wanted to go to her. He wanted to hold her together. Scorpius stayed very still for fear that he might do something reckless, like snog her. "This was a stupid fight."

"The stupidest," he murmured.

"I don't think that's a word," Rose sniffed, levity returning to her face and voice.

"Yes it is," he argued, walking over to her. Scorpius nearly stumbled over a chair; they were in an empty classroom, moonlight streaming in, turning her eyes to the colour of ice. "I checked, just in case."

"If you say so. Come on. We should be getting back."

She took his hand, began dragging him to the door. For one moment, before they left that classroom in its shades of grey and white and blue, with its elongated, distorted shadows like a fairytale book's illustration, they were holding hands. It was him, and Rose, touching, in between a surreal place and reality, and all he wanted to do was stay there forever. Her smaller hand in his, skin soft and warm and nails short enough that they didn't cut into his skin, his fingertips fitting perfectly into the divots between her knuckles. Her scent in his nose, one of ginger and citrus, never the flower she was named after.

And then some third-year girl fled crying down the hall, and the spell was broken. Light and sound flooded his senses, and they were dragged apart.

. . .

"Merlin's baggy Y-fronts, Rose, what did you do to your hair?" Roxanne scolded as she forced Rose to sit down at the vanity table and let her cousin work her magic.

"I don't know," Rose answered, although she remembered clearly the sound of bobby pins falling to the floor, the moment when she'd wished it were someone else's hands pulling them out and not her own. Wished it was someone pulling them out in an act of romantic passion and not because Scorpius had pissed her off. "I guess I just danced too much?

Roxanne snorted. "You, dancing?"

"Don't laugh." She winced as Roxanne shoved a brush through her curls.

"Don't make me." Roxanne was teasing but fond as she pulled the last of the pins from Rose's tangled locks. "How was tonight? Did you and Malfoy slip away for a lovers' tryst? Because he was staring at you all night."

Rose sighed, rolling her eyes at her cousin's blatant fabrication. "Scorpius was staring at Francesca Zabini all night, not me, and we certainly did not have a lovers' trust. We had an argument."

"So, a lovers' quarrel then," Roxanne suggested slyly, using magic to turn the waves of Rose's hair to its usual tight spirals.

"It was not a lovers anything, Roxy." She got up from the vanity, marching over to the wardrobe. Rose took her flannel pyjamas off of one of the hangers, and took it behind a privacy screen to begin changing.

As the top went over her head, Roxy resumed speaking. "Why would Scorpius be looking at Zabini? She was wearing the most hideous dress - "

"That made her look like a drowned ferret, I know," Rose completed her cousin's sentence with a laugh. "Or maybe that was her hairstyle - "

"Because of all the hair gel she piled on?" Roxanne joked. "Or was it her natural grease?"

"Maybe they're one and the same," Rose suggested as she walked towards the bathroom. It was empty, because all the other girls in their dorm were still at the ball or put and about with their boyfriends. She readied herself for bed, Roxanne doing the same, and they both went to bed.

"Hey, Rose?" Roxanne asked just as the other girls began filing into the room.

"Yeah, Roxy?"

"Scorpius was definitely staring at you."

"Shut up."

a/n: thank you to Guest and Connected-By-a-Semicolon for reviewing!


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